firewater
by trihalmentris
Summary: — there's the passion of burning flames in those eyes of blue. - role reversal!AU: a morning between shizume city's red king mikoto suoh and his bartender lieutenant, awashima seri.


**title**. _firewater_.  
 **characters.** _mikoto suoh, awashima seri, mentions of kamamoto rikio, yata misaki, kushina anna, & tatara totsuka._

 **1:** this is based from a tumblr post of a _what if_ seri was mikoto's lieutenant & izumo was munakata's - and i'm like, _nice_. it would honestly be so fun tho.  
 **2** : although it's my current stylistic choice, the lack of quotation marks isn't everyone's cup of tea. so i reformatted this + added/corrected some stuff.

 **disclaimer** : _K_ _/ K Project_ rightfully belongs to _GoRA_. i'm just a fan with an imagination working overtime.

* * *

.

 _._

 _._

 _Tap, tap, tap_ , goes the wood upstairs: it's a soft yet still audible sound to his ears, and he cracks an eye open to be greeted by a blurry view of the dark brown mahogany ceiling. From looking at wood he angles his head to the side a little so his eye could turn to the window, covered with that cutesy white lace curtain that ought to be burned. Little sunlight poured through the glass panes, faint but nevertheless, still there.

(He doesn't look for the color of the sky - the curtain and the sunlight that streamed in combined makes it look gray, and perhaps that's what the sky was at this hour. The lack of blaring noise outside _and_ harsh sunlight tell him that, too.)

Mikoto Suoh closes his eye and drifts away to sleep once more, drowning out the sounds of car engines to focus on the sound of wood upstairs going _tap, tap, tap._

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

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.

.

Kamamoto often pointed out that the bar's floorboards were goddamn creaky every time he would walk around, but it didn't seem so for Awashima Seri's case - each step she took didn't induce a squeaky protest from the wood under the two-inch heels on her feet, nor did it leave the soft _click clack_ sounds that Yata would scowl at whenever it would reach his ears.

(Then again, Yata Misaki always had a permanent scowl set on his face whenever she was involved.)

Once fully dressed, her lithe fingers wrap around her room's doorknob and she closes the door behind her slowly like she had done when opening the door earlier - a practiced motion leaving not even the slightest sound, carried over until she crosses the hall and goes down the stairs, each step she took light and careful. She'd hate to wake her roommate, an adorable young girl sleeping soundly in her animal pajamas.

When Seri's at the first floor's landing, her eyes turn to the couch at the far end of the room and a frown pulls at her lips: there _he_ was, sitting at the couch with his gangly legs spread wide open and his arms set behind his head. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips and a half empty bottle was set on the table not far from where he sat - her eyes roll and she shakes her head for a moment before she moves across the room to the couch.

Her heels still leave no sound against the floorboards.

When he was within an arm's reach, she unceremoniously swipes the cigarette from his mouth and turns away, grabbing the bottle on the table on her way back - his eyes flicker open just as quick, and he sees a retreating figure in a cream dress with his cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other.

(Right - the _bottle_. How he intended only to drink a few cups of the whiskey last night that turned out to be almost finishing the bottle in one sitting was beyond him.)

"… give that back," Mikoto growls lowly.

"I'd like you to specify what shoud I return," Seri replies casually.

She's already going behind the bar's counter and she glares at him briefly before storing away the bottle in the refrigerator. A snap from her fingers and hey presto - his cigarette turns to ash right in between her fingers, pieces of white and gray fluttering down to the floor like snowflakes. Mikoto scowls and throws his head back languidly, eyes set back on the ceiling.

"You almost finished a bottle of the Hibiki Japanese Harmony," she tells him from across the room, her voice at a controlled volume. "Do you have any idea how much a single bottle costs?"

There it is: that firm, scolding voice of hers, early in the bloody morning - it's probably topped off with her narrowed eyes staring him down like a criminal. He brings a hand to his temple and closes his eyes, eyebrows drawing together.

"I might as well finish it," he drawls. His response makes her scoff.

"You've had enough. What did I say about taking bottles from the display?"

He blinks. If it's something she set, then it's probably along the lines of ' _with my permission_ ' or ' _with supervision_ '.

(... _Probably_.)

"… you wasted a good cigarette."

"And you're wasting life away by lazing around in my bar," she sighs. "Totsuka-kun told me you sat on the couch the whole morning yesterday."

Mikoto clicks his tongue.

( _Goddammit_ , Tatara.)

" _I was sleeping_ ," he grunts.

"You're _always_ sleeping," she snaps. "You smoke three packs of cigarettes in one day on an _average_ , rarely move from a spot that you find comfortable unless needed, and then you take drinks from my display when you feel like it. Your current lifestyle isn't going to reflect well on your health - do yourself a favor and breathe in some fresh air… if only for just an hour."

Silence. He lifts his head up slowly and their eyes meet from across the room, gazes steady and unyielding.

Lazy amber against gleaming blue - he always found it strange that somehow in those eyes of hers, he would find the intensity of a roaring flame that would rival that of Yata's.

(Or perhaps it was even brighter… sometimes he couldn't tell.)

For what seems like an eternity, he makes the first move - her hands still remain on her hips as she watched him shove his hands into the pockets of his jackets, then he draws out a heavy sigh as he pulled himself off the comfort of the couch.

"You're gonna take a walk too," he says.

She pauses, eyes blinking. Her hands leave her hips to fall to her sides, and she tilts her head slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Anna finished the milk cartons last night."

She raises an eyebrow at him and frowns.

"Nice try. There's still two whole cartons, she couldn't have drank them all by herself."

He rolls his eyes as he scratched the back of his neck.

"… there's no more anko on the fridge either."

She narrows her eyes at him for a moment, and then she proceeds to open the fridge again for the both of them to behold: she stares and he stares at the fridge with no anko and milk cartons in sight, until she closes the fridge door with a soft thud. Seri glances at him one last time with her _hands-on-hips-and-a-frown-on-the-face_ combination and he shrugs in response, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders.

"… Stop glaring. I wouldn't even eat a single piece of your -"

"- I'll get my wallet," she huffs.

Mikoto watches her turn around and walk back up the stairs before he exhales a sigh and flumps right back on the couch, listening again to the wood go _tap, tap, tap_.

.

.

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* * *

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.

.

Mikoto Suoh ends up carrying four cartons of milk plus two large plastic tubs of anko all crammed up in one convenience store plastic bag, while Awashima Seri holds a much smaller plastic bag containing six boxes of a cigarette brand that she claimed to have lesser nicotine content than Mikoto's favored brand (that he could care much or less what its name was). They walk side by side at a steady pace, Mikoto's gaze set straight ahead while Seri focused on the streets of Shizume City.

A few number of robots roamed the streets, cleaning up trash and maintaining street lights and signs. There were also a few people who walked the streets, either joggers or white-collared workers that could be distinguished by their clothing or the objects they had with them. Cars were few as well and perhaps it was no wonder, it was far too early for the day to begin for most people.

"It might be better to take walks this early," Seri says as she turned to Mikoto.

Even with her heels on, she still has to look up at him while talking. He turns to face her, lowering his head slightly to meet her eyes. His gaze drifts from the expectant expression on her face then lingers to the plastic bag in her hand.

"… Too early," he sighs. A yawn escapes his mouth shortly after he spoke, as if to prove a point.

Seri shakes her head, shifting the plastic bag she held to her right hand.

"Any time of the day I suggest, you always think it's early."

"Because it is."

"Even when I suggested that you and Anna take walks on the afternoons?"

Mikoto groans audibly and Seri can only sigh in frustration, her left hand tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"If it's any consolation… there's little security in the mornings, so there would be less eyes on you."

 _Ah_. There it is - she speaks with choice words, picked carefully to be subtle but it still dances with myriad implications. A funny thing really for someone like _her_ , but he could never tell sometimes _who_ was she trying to reassure with her words.

Sometimes, he wonders if she could hear herself as she would speak.

Sometimes, he wonders if she truly found comfort in her own words.

He breathes out a puff of air, and his words sound like a whisper.

"… You make it sound like I'm on the run."

For a moment, there's the sound of rumpling plastic. Mikoto glances at her briefly - at her furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips - before looking away.

"That…" she pauses to bite her lip for a moment before continuing, "…that isn't what I meant."

Mikoto closes his eyes, Seri keeps hers downcast.

A light breeze rushes in and dances in between them, and he breathes in the chilly air it brings.

(Sometimes, he has the urge to ask her what she _really_ means - )

They walk side by side still, a lazy pace for a lazy day.

( - but he doesn't.)

"… I know."

.

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* * *

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.

.

"… Cook meat for breakfast afterwards, then I'll consider it."

Seri looks up at Mikoto again, an eyebrow raised. Her hand's about to open the door to the bar but then he spoke, breaking the silence that fell around them for the rest of their walk. He doesn't meet her gaze, too preoccupied with scratching the back of his neck.

" _Afterwards_?" she repeats. Mikoto runs a hand through his hair upon hearing the tone of her voice, a chunk of doubt and perhaps a tint of amusement mixing together.

"You heard me," he sighs.

Mikoto opens the door and walks right in immediately, heading for the counter.

Seri trails behind him a few seconds after taking in his words.

"… I'll determine your portions on the time and intensity of your walk."

He suddenly stops walking, turning around to watch her close the door and walk past him, not even sparing a glance at his face and at the expression of dread it held.

"You're not serious."

"If we're trying to regulate your health, your diet should come with it," she chuckles.

And for the second time that morning, Mikoto Suoh audibly groans.

.

.

.

* * *

 **3:** idk about the last two parts, it's pretty sloppy gomen - i still want to play with this au tho, mainly bc i think the relationship between mikoto + seri would be a very strange mix between distant and subtle.  
 **4** : i rly like my headcanon of mikoto not making it a point to call seri by her name (not even by her family name) and _vice-versa_. and they've been... friends (?) ever since middle school or something, wow. but tatara calls them both by their _first_ names tho. communication is strange.


End file.
